Water Boiler
by Maggot Magnet
Summary: Scout breaks the water boiler, thus sending a metaphorical bottomless void into the daily lives of the REDs we all know and love. Fit.
1. The Breaking of the Boiler

**Author's Proud Note; This is my first serious multichapter tale.  
Review what you think, because I am quite certain this story needs a bit of help.  
It's like a special needs story, okay? It's a bit...uh, challenged.**

* * *

Leaving Scout alone in a room with a mechanical object is _always_ a bad idea.

Here is a narrative that describes how exactly that idea can turn into a catastrophe that brings the team apart; thus meaning I have a legible excuse to write a failed dramatic story and squeeze in sexual innuendo or intellectual vocabulary words where I see fit.

I see fit all over the place.

Hey! Look!

A _fit!_

And there's _another_ fit!

And there's my readers throwing fits when they read this piece of fit!

Fit, fit, fit, fit, _fit!_

_ In all of yo__ur__ well-educated faces!_

Also, readers,_ please_ don't empathize with Sniper because you will soon realize that basically all I do in this story is torture the poor man.

* * *

The room was dimly lit but filled with a subtle hum of the power generators, and an abundance of Mann Co. Crates, stacked in sloppy heaps in the dark corner, did little to complete the emptiness that floated within the gray walls. Power cords lay by the a large humming power generator in an inextricable pile that everyone had seemed to be too lazy to untangle. There was one thing that caught Scout's attention, though; a huge metallic structure in the center of the metallic floor that was coated with rust - a boiler - and a bubbling sound that was quite apparent as he got closer to the water mill. He'd spotted the door creaking open and, worried it could have been an ideal hiding spot of a furnace monster, peeked in just in case. The Bostonian had crept through the doorway, and as soon as he scanned the room, he got a small idea when he saw the boiler. It was, as Scout saw it, the perfect opportunity to practice for tomorrow's battle.

"Wha'd ya just_ say _about _MY_ Ma?" A squeaky prepubescent voice suddenly taunted the boiler as the Bostonian hopped between his worn black sneakers as if he were stepping on hot coals. He spun his clenched fists in a threatening spiral, a technique most cheerleaders would die to emulate. "Yeah, you think you _special,_ huh?" He batted his gauzed-up knuckles in the air to show the boiler who was boss. Holding it in the air for a second to scare it, he jeered, "Wanna piece a' _THIS?_" The boiler looked as if he was feeling fresh.

"Batter _up!_"

A clang sounded as the sneakers that were massive on the adolescent foot swung at the metal.

"_Ow!_" Scout squeaked, leg jerking back to the floor.

He sniffed curtly and regained his composure. Jutting out his chest, he gulped and bellowed, "_BONK!_" Scout brought up a throaty laugh from deep in his stomach that resembled that of a true man; "Haw, haw, haw! Oh ho ho ho! _Ha ha haw!_ Eat it, _fatty! _I mean, seriously!

"Jus' look at yer damn metal. It's all scratchy an' old lookin'! _Wow._ Who built you, a fuckin' _oompa-loompa?_ Dude, you're _reta'ded._

"An' would'ja just look at yer freakin' _wide-ness__!_ You are so _damn_ fat because yer a tin man _fatty!_ How d'ya like _THAT,_ ya fat assho'OLE?" With horror, he winced when his voice cracked at the climax of his insult.

Scout coughed and tried again. "I said _asshole!_" he shouted accusingly at the metal that would be undoubtedly shivering in fear by now, due to the Scout baring his teeth like a dog and pulling his young bony shoulders up to his ears to appear taller. "Yeah! _Eat_ it!"

He then brought his foot back and then let it propel towards the bottom pipes of the boiler with all the force he could muster. His foot ricocheted back as the pipes clunked hollowly against him and made a crackling sound followed by a short hiss. Scout was unsure if the crack was caused by the boiler or his toe, but due to 3 good inches of sneaker padding around his thick knee socks the answer was quite obvious.

"AAA_AUGH!_ OH GOD, OW! OW! _OW!_" Scout bawled as he brought his knee up to his chest to hug his newly injured foot. Bouncing on his other heel, he cried out in pain; "GOD _DAMN,_ OW! _SHIT,_ DUDE! Aw_ god_, aw_ jeez,_ aw _law'dy,_ aw _SHIT!_ MA!"

The whining that accompanied the sob-story was interrupted by a flustered Medic that threw open the door of the boiler room with a stern, "Herr _Scout!_"

Scout whirled his head around and quickly let his foot drop back to his side as he saw the doctor flicking a few other light switches up with the red rubber gloves. "Dinnah is _ready._ Come on, hurry_ up_." Medic scanned his eyes around the derelict room, not understanding why Scout is clutching his foot in such a darkened place without either of the boy's obvious interests – TVs or baseball, according to what Medic saw him talk about all day long – in sight. "Vhat ah you doing in heah _anyvay,_ hm? Zhere's appearing to be nos'hing of yah interest in_ heah._ Only a bunches of _boilahs_ and _boxes,_ nein?"

Scout hurriedly proppelled into a startled Medic like a doctor-magnet. The young man drew his arms apart and stuck his chest out just as he rehearsed. "Yo, is dere a _probl'm?_ Ya gotta _probl'm _wit' me? Yeah, come _at _me, bro! Y'wanna come_ at_ me? Wanna _fight?_"

"Go to dinnah," Medic responded absently.

Scout shoved past Medic with all the sovereignty of a twitchy five-year-old.

"Well, y-yer jus' _hatin'_, man!" the Bostonian yelled as he backed away into the hallway, still facing the Medic's confused smirk and one greying raised brow. "Yeah, yeah, jus' _standin'_ there! Stand 'round dere like a frickin' _tree,_ y'are! Ooh, hoo, _real_ scary,_ candyass!_ Come at me, brudda, I said _come at me!_"

"Next time I simply von't inform you of dinnah," Medic sighed quietly, most likely a mental note, as he closed the door without even looking back towards the boiler. Clapping twice to enforce hurry, he commanded, "Now, let's _go. Bitte_. Our team is _avaiting."_

Maybe if Medic noticed just one tiny little thing, he could have made life easier for the whole of RED. One tiny little thing; emphasis on the word 'tiny' because I am_ currently_ being _dramatic._

However, Medic won't contradict the plot because, well, if he _did,_ then there really _wouldn't_ be any meaning to this story, would there?


	2. The Restrainting of the Sniper

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys!

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Dinner was fine that evening.

No, it was satisfactory.

As Scout sat down at the smallest rickety chair purposely put off to the end of the table, his scrunched-up nose found the dinner already placed before him to be quite unappetizing. The plates were dumped with desolate heaps of bad-smelling meat that rested in cold gravy-covered chunks alongside a neat pile of rice with grains that seemed much too small and much too dry to be actually considered rice at all.

He regretted not being able to joke about the horrifying condition of their evening mess with his best buddy Pyro, but everyone knew that Pyro would rather feed Medic's doves than join them. After all, the disgusting food would just mush up in the mouth hole of the mask and thus didn't make for a very appetizing sight for everyone else. And, after all, Pyro couldn't contribute to any conversations anyway.

An agonized little Bostonian was then forced to imagine the FDA bursting through the wall in various helicopters, but he knew that instead of a rescue all he'd probably get was more people trying to shove the grubs into his mouth. Scout picked at the plate with his silver fork he remembered Ma giving him that he used to eat the beautiful baseball-embellished ornate cake that he'd gotten for his seventh birthday. He was ashamed that it was touching such inedible god-darned retarded old crap junk. "Yo," he began quietly, his hunger senses not tingling at that moment. "Which one a' youse guys tryin' ta feed up our team wit' _DOG_ food?"

"Leetle Scout not eating, only complaint and com-_plaint_," Heavy scorned, shaking his head in shame. The wide Russian display of gourmand piled up a massive amount of the meat onto his fork and shoved the mound into his mouth like a hungry steamroller. Still chewing on the half-raw rations, he continued on with both hairy cheeks plump with the greasy disgrace of cuisine. "Vhy this is? Ees Scout not hungry? Eet _very_ stupid, go to dinner and not hungry. Eet _waste_ good heal'sy food een tiny _stupeed_ mouth."

"Damn _well_ I ain't hungry, ya _fatty-_fat _poo_-face," Scout snapped, trying hard to look intimidating but the look not really working out for him as he slammed his silverware on the wooden table. "Dis _shit _ain't appetizin' _ME_, fo' _sho'._" He looked down at the dinner, that was incontrovertibly a mound of leftovers that were shoved in the oven and lathered up with instant-powder-gravy sauce. In an excessively immature show of his lack of respect, Scout stuck out his tongue with a choreographed shudder that was not convincing at all. "Gross! _Dude._ Think _barf _in a _shit _puddle."

"Lad's roight." There was a squeak that accompanied the Sniper as he leaned back in his chair at an angle that was noticeably quite dangerous – he didn't care, though, because he was an assassin – and the man appeared to not even bother to attempt picking at the cooling dinner. "Ya callin' _this_ a meal?" he grumbled, spitting on the floor beside the table. "Oi, mate, count _me _out. Seen _better_ meals on th' _bottom _of m' _shoes_." Sniper snickered.

Scout jumped up from his chair. "OOO_OOH!_" Scout hooted with the ferocity of an underage football player, eyelids pressed together as he held a fist to his mouth. "BIG _SNIPE! BIIIG MAAAN!_"

"Sniper, that ain't polite at _all_ a' you," Engineer remarked with a slight but ingenuous frown as he looked over at the bushman, becoming very upset about his iniquity towards the team. "Ya could at least keep yer opinions to yerself and not set a bad example to Scout here."

Scout froze above the table and squinted down at Engineer. "Ex-_cuse_me?"

"Non, Engineer, Sniper's right about zhat bit," the self-righteous Spy remarked as he pushed his plate away haughtily, chin tilted up daintily in utter disgust for such a frivolous offense to his regular table etiquette. "Not to _offend _zhe creator of zhis meal, but I cannot continue to eat zhis _garbage,_ as it seemingly _worsens_ wis'h each _day._" With the way he sniffed after he completed his critique, he was clearly choosing rather to shrivel up into a emaciated French pile than show basic table manners.

"Hmm, who in the _HELL _could that be? Let's think on that for a moment – _oh, wait!_ He would be..._ME!_" Soldier's stout body leaped up, anger soon to be pervasive, and growled incisively at the RED across the table. "SO YOU _BETTER_ SHUT IT, FRENCHIE!" the man threatened in an angered holler as he raised his fist up into the air. "Or _ELSE_ you'll have _THIS_ here buddy of mine _DIGGING _INTO YOUR _GOD_-DAMNED _SKULL!_"

The shivering Scout's eyes grew wide as he saw his fellow Frenchman on the verge of death and he obediently plopped back into his seat like a good boy.

"Settle _down_ now, fellers," Engineer warned softly as he brought some of the excuse for meat to his mouth, capable of creating some sort of peace among the incorrigible members of the team using his Texan purity. "C'mon, it's dinnertime. Be a _lil'_ respectful, will ya?" A slight smile faintly flashed across his face, and everyone slowly sank into their wooden chairs like puddles of complacent pudding. "As Irene an' I always say...supper time is _happy_ time, so y'all should – "

"Ae, yeah, by th' _way,_ mates," Demoman interrupted to the happiness of the team. With an unsure hand that bobbed about the table before grabbing a brown bottle in front of him, he swung his Scrumpy to his lips and took a few swigs. A gratuitous burp from deep inside his guzzling stomach made an unfortunate Medic that sat beside him cringe in harrowing disgust.

"Sorrae," Demoman slurred, noticing his teammate's discomfort. Medic only closed his eyes and nodded slightly. "But, 'as Ae wa' sayin'...when does them ceasefire _end,_ 'eh?"

"Tomorrow, ya drunk loon," Sniper answered, picking at his yellowing teeth with a fingernail. "Bummer, 'ey? Jus' startin' ta git used ta doin' whoteveh the _hell_ Oi please, 'm." He then quickly scanned the room behind his dust-ridden glasses and smirked with enmity. "But if Oi was doin' whoteveh the hell Oi really please, Oi'd _never_ see any a' yer faces again." He quickly looked at a smiling Frenchman and was certain his backstabbing friend had caught that bluff.

Spy chuckled with a slight snort. "Oh, but_ zhat's _nowhere near zhe _truth,_ however. If you were doing whatever zhe 'ell you please, Mister Bushman..." he began as he took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped its smoking end with the tip of his glove to scatter the gray powder beside his plate, "I _doubt_ you would still _live_ in zhat gloomy old _van,_ dialing up your_ parents_ as you _touch_ yourself to your _filzhy_ – "

"HEY!" Sniper's chair squeaked on the floor as he recoiled back in anger as if Spy's accusation was completely fatuous. Two hands steadying him as the pulled a hunched body over the table, he bared his teeth at the amused audience. "_NAH_ YEH JUS' GETTIN' _PERSONAL!_"

"Ae, it _ain' _personal no more if w' c'n all hear, you _all_ th' way from th' bloody _parkin' loot,_" Demoman guffawed, not minding how inarticulate his sentence must have sounded. He burst into feral laughter.

"WHOT DA YAH MEAN, _'HEAR'_?" Sniper screamed, visage reddening as he flipped his collar up to his chin, dousing in obvious flagrance. The entire table's entertained eyes set on the poor man in the spotlight.

Scout crossed his arms and squinted at Sniper, pouting his lower lip up to appear excessively upset as he complained in the familiar whiny tone. "DUDE, DO YOU_ NOT _REALIZE I CAN'T _SLEEP?_ AH' YOU FREAKIN' _STUPID?_ ALL I _HEAR_ IS YOU _YELLIN'_ THINGS FROM YER VAN OUTSIDE, AND DAT COOL POLKA-DOT PILLOW MY MA GAVE TA ME DON'T _HELP_ FOR _SHIT _WIT – "

"..._P-PISS_ OFF!" hissed the man that panicked with indignation, his anxious spit shooting across the table. Scout dodged the saliva bullet with a wince.

"'Piss off', he say! No need for 'piss off'ing, Scout ees _very_ correct!" Heavy added with a course nod. He frowned as he scraped the last of the gravy into a chunky brown puddle at the side of his plate. "Sniper is loud, like CRYING BABY!" Forgetting about his plate and leaving it to clatter before him, he slammed both fists on the table in anger, making everyone's white china rattle on the wood as it shook. "CAN_NOT_ go _SLEEP_ wis'h s'his SOUNDS!"

Engineer was red as he fiddled with his fingers nervously, praying for forbearance. "Please. _Enough _a' this..."

"On zhe _contrary._ It would be _quite_ zhe _shame_ if zhis amusing debate ended," Spy noted furtively, knowing Sniper couldn't take any innocuous words without exploding into a fit of rage. He continued with his mawkish sentences. "_Zhis_ seems to be start of zhe _fun_ part." He snorted once for good measure.

"FUN PART? _OHHH,_ OI'LL _SHOW_ YOU TH' BLOODY _FUN_ PART, YA _CUNT-HEADED_ – "

"_ACH!_" Medic squeezed his eyes together as he brought his red gloves to his temples. "VOULD YOU _CALM_ DOWN? Yah _YELLING_ is up_SETTING _my _EAR_DRUMS! Talk about yah sexual habits _QVIETLY,_ VOULD YOU?"

"OH MOI _LORD!_" Sniper yelled, jumping up and raising both hands up in agony with an obvious lack of hegemony. "Y'know wot? Oi CAN'T _TAKE_ IT! THAT'S_ IT! _HOW ABOUT A BIG '_FUCK _YOU' TAH _ALL _YAH _WANKAHS,_ 'EY!" He turned around, shaking his head in disbelief, and took angered steps towards the door. "THA'S_ IT! _Tha's _JUST_ it! OI _CAN'T_ PUT _UP_ WITH THIS!" His voice grew high-pitched and whiny along with his helpless wide eyes. "Oi can_NOT_ put up with this! Oi'm bloody _OUTTA _here!"

"THAT'S IT! _RUN,_ YOU SURRENDER MONKEY, _RUN!_" hollered Soldier as an honor to America's implicit maxims as perceived by their nation's demagogue. Then he paused to tap his chin for a moment as Sniper froze in his tracks to turn around with a fierce scowl. He realized that he was mistaken. "Wait, no, that's Spy, right? Oooh..._whoops._"

What followed was a full-blown wrestling match between Soldier and Sniper in the middle of the kitchen floor, Soldier being the proud winner and Sniper trying his best to hold up his up bruised spine as he limped out the door, muttering about a useless waste of a bad team's Medic and promising never to moan quite so loudly again.

* * *

Sniper could most certainly _not_ sleep that night.

The indigent papery sheet covers crackled as he stirred in the fold-out bed of his camper van. His hand kept lingering right around his waist, but he continuously kept stopping himself to curse and bring his hand back to his side. He'd learned his lesson last time, and – according to his wristwatch and the kerosene lamp that rested on a side table by his cot – it was only ten at night. Everyone on the team would still be wide awake. He just had to wait a bit more, just a bit more, until he could finally pull out that drawer with all those magazines and all those good pictures and...but he couldn't.

What did they mean, "he couldn't"? The poor man figured no one would give in to his creepy pulchritude, so he was forced to be alone – something he'd lived with for as long as he could remember. But even in the merciless roughness of residing in the Outback, when worst came to worst, he'd have to come to the worst as well. And now, when one of his only necessities for survival was taken from him in a world where he was undoubtedly going to stay single for endless stretches of time, also known as his stressful vocation that perhaps isn't that good of a job as he'd thought previously, mate – not to mention his doting parents would pester him about it until the day he died. In fact, every time he'd called, his father had insisted he quit his darn job and travel back to Adelaide to find a young woman and settle for a bit, which is a good reason he preferred talking to his Mum. Hell, both his parents evenly punitive. And then there was Spy, who head-on ruined the only thing that could calm him down on the base – the irony of it being Spy that started the topic made his head spin, considering a good share of those louder times were ones where the Frenchman's image stayed in his mind.

Quite simply, RED can_not_ take away one of his only meanings of existence. But there was no way to quell what he felt he had to do without actually getting on his team's nerves – he didn't even know they heard at all, which was quite embarrassing. He had to piece his logic back together, no matter how quixotic is seemed, before it was too late; he would have to somehow, in some magical way, allow his palm to remain abstinent.

Beads of sweat ran down his face as the cool breeze wafted in from the van's window above him. He thought the van _muffled_ noise, not heightened them. Nevertheless, Sniper told himself to get used to this privation, but he could not resist from shivering and groaning quietly as more wind blew in. Beginning to breath more heavily, he looked down at the blanket that danced when fingers decided to fumble a bit with the buttons on his shameless tighty-whites, but he felt a droplet of willpower and vacillated his groping hand back up to his stomach. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard, he rolled his eyes back up to the ceiling in frustration. He told himself he could survive without it just for one night, but he knew deep in his Australian veins that he could not. Dear god, he _HAD_ to.

Perhaps a quick shower would distract him for about half an hour, which is just enough for his mind to change track and finally let him get some rest. He lifted his arm up out of the sheets and took a whiff of his grossly unshaven armpit – only to pull his head back with a grimace. Yes, showering wouldn't be a bad idea.

He tumbled out of the bed, still groggy as ever and left knee still throbbing from Soldier's fists and severe lack of Medic's aid. Scratching his back with a prolonged yawn, he retrieved his daily outfit from the floor and gathered a few raggedy old towels. As he pulled on his personalized professional uniform and swung the ratty towels over his shoulder, he realized he did not actually remember the last time he'd taken a shower.

Slamming and locking the camper van's door, he whistled out to the small shower room that was placed distantly to the leftmost side of the base. With a puerile grin, he realized that perhaps he could undergo a very predictable plot to combine those two needs of his – one decidedly normal, and one considered condemned to him. But not for long.

* * *

As he entered the hygiene room and took sight of the closest of nine shower stalls, he smiled and snickered because he knew this would be the perfect crime – well, sort of a stereotypical gesture from him, too, but if anyone would hear him this late he could respond that the water was much too hot and he couldn't resist screaming in pain as the scalding water sizzled his flesh...right?

Kicking off his clothes and shoving them into a random small cubicle on a wooden structure to the side of the shower stall, he found every team member's name to be faded to the point in which they were illegible discolored dots. Well, except for a certain compartment's label that read 'Scout' in bright red letters that was scrawled in the prideful handwriting of a kindergartener. Below the label rested a multitude of patterned folded towels and an entire library of baseball-themed rubber ducks. This induced an eye-roll from the Australian observer.

Sniper set one foot into the shower stall with a satisfied tuneless hum and twisted the shower handle first thing, because he remembered from a few weeks before that it took quite a while for the water to begin pouring from the shower head. For now, he could get himself ready. Finally able to fulfill his lecherous urges, his hand trailed down to where it was needed most, and he silenced himself by clenching his lips before he could expel a moan. His other hand twisted into a fist and pressed against the wall to prevent as much vocals as possible. Holding back heaves of perverted Australian pleasure, Sniper worked on himself timorously; he was sure to mitigate it from his usual rough practices so no one would come barging in and complaining of the noise. His two eyes simply shut to come to terms with the absolute silence while a grungy hand accompanied his freedom in the gentlest way he could bring himself to. The water made a strangle gurgling sound somewhere within the pipes, but the sound didn't bother the bushman because it formed a low duet with Sniper's quieter gargle of contentment. His nightly penchant was brought back to him, although earlier today he was certain he wouldn't have the chance to loll about any more as long as he resided in the battlements. But there he was, situation philanthropic and nothing to stop him. Finally, he could live again; living felt wonderful!

He stood there for a long while, enticing a variety of quiet grunts from himself, preparing for the shower and beginning to become phlegmatic when the water didn't run at all.

Just then, right at the wrong moment, a single blast of disgustingly freezing water shot out of the shower head to wet his hair and run in cold, thin rivers down his back. Then the water ceased, and he stood there with eyes squeezed shut, entirely flaccid, and a familiar flustered platitude rumbling through his teeth; "Bloody. Fuckin'. _Hell._"

I_ tried_ to warn you about sympathizing with Sniper.


	3. The Depression of the Scout

**A/N: Holy macaroni, so many reviews. **_fapfapfapfap -_  
**I've never been happier in all of my life. Thanks, people.**  
**But it's sorta hard to type now with all of these happenises blocking my keyboard.**

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"Woah-_ho_ dere, Snipes!" Scout remarked as he shook a box that was filled to the brim with tasteless Wheat-O's cereal into his eleventh bowl of milk that morning. This ginormous amount of unhealthy breakfast would have probably angered his Ma, but he was clearly too rebellious of a teenager to make a sensible judgment. "Dude, you are lookin'_ wayyy_ pissier than _evah_ before, and I ain't even _talkin'_ 'bout all dose Jarate cans or whatever ya call 'em." Scout rolled his eyes at Sniper. "_Jeez,_ man, _sorry _we sorta yelled at ya yesterday, but ya look like ya just up an' shat a dog_._"

Due to a angered tacit rumbling from deep in the Australian man's throat, the apology did not seem to be accepted. Scout blinked for a moment and then went back to making his breakfast.

Engineer looked up from his eggs and toast to take a fretful glance at Sniper, who, in fact, didn't look too good at all as he sulked over his cup of coffee and refused to look at the other two REDs in the kitchen that morning. Engineer coughed and uneasily began trying to cheer him up; "Listen, buddy, y'okay? Got a bellyache? Y'all look like y' git a _real_ bad bellyache brewin' down there in yer gut this morn'! Wanna call Medic? Hell, _I'll_ even call him for ya...I mean, if ya'd like. That is, he ain't necessarily up yet, so _that_ wouldn't be so nice...but I reckon if ya _really_ – "

"Showers don't work," Sniper muttered, making each slow word calm and veiled in his utter hatred. He raised the mug to his lips and took a drawn-out sip that overstated his nefarious stillness. The now-empty cup hit the table with a slam.

"Big _whoop!_" Scout scoffed, digging a spoon into his cereal. "So? Showahs broke, _real_ scary! What do ya care so much, huh? Dude, if dis thing's _only _about showahs, then I _serious_ly – "

"Oi said...the_ showers_ are _broken._" Sniper's hat rode lower on his frowning face to completely engulf both his eyebrows and his receding hairline. He paused solemnly, sending shivers down Engineer's spine as he turned toward him. "Fix. It." The last word transformed into a currish growl; "_Now._"

"A-al_righty_ then!" squeaked the obsequious fidget of an Engineer, rising up hurriedly and jitters causing him to tug recklessly at his collar. "I'm-ah, I'm going to, uh, er, fix th' showers then! Heh! Ah-hyup! Gonna go fix 'em now! Yep, off to fix th' showers! Heh!"

"Hm." Sniper nodded slowly, sunglasses reflecting the anxiousness in the room and thus adding to the calm but enigmatic sentences. "No worries."

As Engineer rushed out of the room, shoulders hunched up to his ears in fear, Scout sprang up abruptly as well. "'Ey, uh, no offense, I'm gonna dip too!"

"Fine by me," Sniper agreed with an emotionless sniff, watching them scurry out the doorway like terrified awkward shoe salemans. Scout's cereal and Engineer's small and tidy breakfast assortment were forgotten and thus left to cool behind Sniper's yellow sunnies.

They almost fell down as they hurried out of the kitchen due to a clear display of their Australian-o-phobia. "Oh, so yer jus' running from me, thinkin' ya can just run yer ass off like dat, ya pussy _turd?_" Scout whispered frantically as he shuffled along behind the frightened stiff-legged Texan. "Aw, hell no, you ain't leavin' me alone wit' dis douche!"

Even in times of great fear like this one, Engineer remembered the values of friendship and shook his head. "Now, now, ya don't go 'round usin' _names,_ kid," he muttered under his breath, fatherly instinct rising up just as he used to correct his little Sarah whenever she added a naughty word to her immature vocabulary.

"What? No. _W__ay. _Yer kiddin' me, right?" Scout froze in his tracks to gape, unblinking eyes spreading over his forehead. His voice rasped into a loud whisper. "His REAL name _is_ Douche? As in, like, Mr. Douche? Dude! Dude, TALK about fitting names – "

"_No,_ it ain – ah, forgit it, never mind. But yer right about one thing; somethin' _must_ be botherin' him _loads_," Engineer added quietly as he looked far behind him to see a Sniper rubbing his palms together in obvious stress. "We'd _better_ fix those showers."

Scout hesitated before raising one side of his smirk in disapproval. "Uh..._we?_"

* * *

"Hand me that tiny wrench, will ya, please?" Engineer asked, groping for the toolbox but finding it just outside his reach. Plumbing wasn't his specialty at all, but Sniper was quite serious and there wasn't anyone as logical or as patient as the man that had spent four years trapped in the engineering college that offered truckloads of daily work. He figured the tiny wrench he used to tighten sentry tripods would at least help him a bit with opening up and examining the first shower head that was only accessible to him via the stepladder he'd found in the janitor's closet.

"Naw," Scout replied nonchalantly, swinging his legs on the chair set next to the toolbox. "Get it yerself, _fat__ass._ I ain't yer servant."

Engineer sighed, holding the shower head's base in place. It was just outside the reach of his stubby arms that flailed about as an attempt to retrieve the tool from its place so far below. "_Please?_" He extended a hand as far as it would go, and it covered only half the distance. "I can't reach, boy."

"Naw," he answered again without showing any signs of proper recalcitrant feelings. "Oh, yeah, by the way, da hell you doin' to dat thing anyway? What_ are _ya, tryin' to turn it into a _sentry?_" Scout frowned. "Dude, what da fuck? I don't wan' a sentry in my showah! What if it accidentally sees the BLU water because it's a shower thing and den it gonna be all, 'POW, POW, POW!' and I'm-a be all, 'DUDE, _WHAT?'_ and then it's gonna fire da stupid _bullets_ at me and I'm-a have to be dodgin' 'em like a pussy ass and den the wattah will get all bloody in da shower jus' like in Phsyco? Remember dat part? Dat was some creepy ass _shit_, man."

Engineer turned around to face the Scout, whose widened gray eyes seemed to state that he actually expected a response. "Uh, sure thing, son." Engineer blinked. "Well, listen, I promise I ain't buildin' it no sentry." The Texan chuckled with a warm smile and patted the metal that stemmed outward to form the iron cylinders. "Heck, all I'm doing is checkin' the actual pipes 'round this room just in case it's mighta been blocked somehow by poor maintenance. And then I should check the boiler. That could be a problem too." He removed his hand and held it outstretched as he gestured towards the toolbox with his chin. "Now, would ya _kindly_ hand me that tiny wrench?"

He raised up the wrench that rested atop the toolbox in a clumsy fist. "Dis one?"

"Yes-sir-_ee_, that one." Engineer reached down for the wrench and nabbed the delicate tool from Scout's hand. He began unscrewing the top of the head from the non-paragon bent iron that surrounded it with a grunt of effort. The cylinder half popped off as the miniscule rusted nail lost its hold. "Much obliged, lil' fella."

"Yeah, yeah, whatevs. So, what'cha doin' wit it if y'ain't buildin' a sentry?" Scout prompted. "You tryin' ta lookit the pipes like a borin' bitch-ass? Or are you just, like, lookin' at da shower thingy dat sprays the wattah? I hate dat dumb old cheap scuzz-bucket piece a' shit. It don't even_ move,_ just like at my dumb old house. I like da one in my new house, it's _real_ chill. It gives me _swag,_ and also, I can sing in da showah...if I _want_ to. I kinda pretend it's like a mic, sorta, and I sorta pull it near. Don't _everyone _do dat? Well, I know _Stevie_ do dat, he's my biggest brudda an' he sings dis _stupid _song goin'" – his high pitch provided for an imitation that was an equivalent to a shriek that probably broke all of Spy's formal-event wine glasses in the kitchen and Engineer's eardrums, judging by his cringe – "_'ain't no mountains high enough, ain't no valley low enough,'_ or somethin' like dat –_ I_ can sing _dat_ shit _too,_ but _Ma_ says he sings da _goodest_ out of _all_ our bruddas...but _honestly_? _Dat_ ain't gonna get him _NOWHERE,_ buddy – "

"Uh-oh," said Engineer quietly, not even bothering to listen to Scout's garrulous vents anymore.

"What happened?" Scout screeched, running to the shower head and shoving Engineer aside to make him topple over the ladder and clunk onto the floor. "Can _I_ see? Lemme see. What _happened?_ Is it gonna _blow?_ _WHY _DIDN'T YA _TELL _ME,_ FAGGOT?_" He pulled his hands down his cheeks to reveal the obscured lower part of his eye socket and a very disturbing scowl. "Oh, oh man, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna DIE! Better safe than sorry, BETTER _SAFE_ THAN _SORRY_ – "

Engineer grunted from the floor. "Calm it," he snapped, Scout's infamy getting on his nerves. Although Scout had to loom over him as he laid on the floor, Engineer put on a solemn face and explained logically. "Lemme explain to ya. So it seems th' actual _shower's_ fine. It's either somethin' in them pipes or somethin' in the boiler, just as I thought." Goggles made the large conduit cylinders that roped around the walls and up to the ceiling look like dark iron snakes, and that induced a dejected sigh from Engineer at all the work that had to be done. "It _will_ take quite a while, I'll give ya _that_. Week or so."

"A week? That's bullcrap," Scout huffed. He lifted his shoulders up in a shrug that showed his defying disposition. "C'mon, _biiig deeeaal_, a _week _of no showahs! I _never _smell; I ain't a big fat flyin' sweat-ball like _fatso_ is, '_kay?_ It don't _matter_ 'bout _me!_"

"Oh, maybe not 'bout _you_, son," Engineer warned with cogent worry, tapping the head of the wrench against the palm of his yellow glove as he shook his head. "But believe me, it's gonna matter 'bout _them_, all right."

* * *

Scout tossed the baseball a few feet into the damp midsummer air and then caught it, only to bring it back up again. "Batter up,_ fag!_ Let's go, let's _go!_"

"Mmh mm nuh mm muh!" Pyro yelled from the other side of the control point bridge swinging Scout's bat teasingly. "Mmhr-mmr! Mmn mmrh MMH _mhr!_"

"Back at ya, doitsbag!" Scout scoffed as he rolled his eyes at his only baseball buddy on the whole dumb team, although Pyro probably wouldn't see his defensive gesture from that far anyway. With a smiling flash of his buck teeth and a steady toss, he grunted as he sent the ball zipping through the air. "Yeah, yeah, _yeah!_"

Pyro's boxy body shuffled a bit as the ball neared. Suddenly, silver struck cotton with a hearty whack that sent the tiny white streak soaring. The two eyes of the mask lifted upwards to the vast blue and a cheer immersed from the inside of the mask.

"Not bad!" shouted Scout as he lifted a hand to his forehead and squinted at the sky to make out a ball flying. "Noice!" He smiled and put his arm back to his side. "Well, for a dumbass like you anyway."

"MMRH!" Pyro placed one rubbery gloves near the uniform's hips and raised the baseball bat high into the air whilst stomping towards Scout. "Mmur mmh mm nh mm_ rgh mrr!_" Pyro stuck a hand out expectantly.

"Jeez, chill_ax_!" Scout routed in non-laudatory anger for his favorite teammate. "I'll get da ball! _Calm_ yer fire-y damn tits _foist!_"

"Mmr mhn mm mmmuh!" Pyro yelled, tapping one black boot persistently in an anticipation that was filled with attitude. "Mm, nmr mmh!"

"Arright, time me, then," he said, eyes fixed on the ball that rested in the grass on the outskirts of the bridge. Scout bent his knees and raised his hands behind him. "Three, two, one...GO!" He dashed off towards the ball in a red-and-grey blur and skidded back next to Pyro in a matter of seconds, huffing as his face grew flushed. He tossed the baseball into Pyro's glove and, in return, took his bat in his hands. "So? How fast?"

"Mhn, mmr mr, nnm mmnr, mmn mmh mnn, mmhm mrr!" Pyro said, then muffled a giggle behind the mask.

"Lying _basta'd!_" Scout yelped accusingly, slugging Pyro in the arm. "_Count_ next time, will ya?"

Suddenly ignoring his friend's quirky comeback, Pyro froze and pointed behind Scout. "Mm! Mnh _mrr_?"

"Huh?" Scout whirled his head around to see the manifold remnants of his team streaming out of the back doorway, led by a scowling Soldier that marched at great speed. "'Ey, wha' da hell you think ya _doin'_ here? Yo, _back off!_ Uh, if ya hadn't noticed, me an' Pyro 're trying to play _BASEBALL_ ovah here?"

"Nega_tory!_" Soldier hollered as he neared Scout. "You _are_ practicing with the rest of our men, whether you LIKE it or NOT!"

Pyro leaped up in anger, partisan to Scout and agreeing with the fellow Bostonian's angered shock. "MMH _MRH!_"

"'Whethah you like it or not', 'whethah you like it or not'," Scout mocked to Pyro, inducing another masked giggle as he swayed his head and imitated Soldier's low voice. He turned back to the burly American with an extreme eye-roll. "Say _what?_ Dude, who are YOU ta tell _ME_ what ta do?"

"War is not aDEM_-OCRACY_, son!" Soldier berated at the top of his lungs. He snatched the steel baseball bat from Scout's hands and tossed it into the air. "My _every word_ is LAW!"

The bat clunked on a nearby helmet.

"Ow!" screamed Engineer.

"Wo'd is_ law?_ No _democracy?_ Democracy-law-wo'ds _my ASS!_" Scout frowned and locked his arms over his chest in an attempt to get his way. "Yo, gimme my bat back, asswipe!"

Soldier grabbed Scout's elbow, ignoring Scout's whines of acrimony when he realized someone that stood about 2 feet shorter was actually abrogating him. "Now, now, son, YOU have gotta RUN to WIN! And JUST _be-_cause it is the _last_ day of _cease-_fire does _NOT _mean _you_ can _SLACK_ OFF!" Soldier yanked him along as he ran, logic clearly intransigent about the fact that Scout was already the fastest runner on RED. The team pointlessly started off on another lap around the gorge. "_One,_ two, three, four, _HUP!_"

Pyro dejectedly sank to the slower back of the clump, where a maudlin Sniper tramped slowly and aimed his sorrowful eyes on his . Pyro, sanguine as usual, poked the saddened pariah and Sniper looked up.

"Mmhr shmnn mr mmnh?" Pyro asked with ostensible concern.

"No worries, Oi'm foine." His brown boots kicked at the floor, and he hacked and spit to the side. "I just don't know whoi in th' hell we're doin' this," he muttered, the only one on his malleable team to take onto the manifest. "Oi don't run in th' bloody game anyway. Oi just stand over theh' loike a good ol'...well, Snoipah, y'know? Bloody bogan, don't need any stinkin' RUNNIN' loike Soldier says."

"Mmhr," Pyro agreed. "Mrh, mruh!"

"Nah, Pyros've gotta run to set people on fire," Sniper replied as he forgot his previous malevolence. He chuckled.

"Mmr hmmr?" Pyro repeated, head cocked in confusion.

Meanwhile, Scout was jogging along beside Soldier due to a crushing grip on his elbow when he picked up an unfamiliar scent lingering in the air.

"Ew!" Scout whined with a grimace of disgust. "Who _smells?_"

"May well be _you,_ lad," Demoman chortled, adding unnecessary calumny to the conversation. "Ye' like a little wee _stink_ bomb, per'aps! Stinkin' up da place wit' yer adorable little sweaties!"

"Shut da hell _up!_ I hate you! Faggot! Go die!" advocated the ambiguous Scout, lifting up his armpit to take inhale his wonderful aroma of a slight arboreal smell of his natural prepubescent deodorant. "And it's not me, ya dickhead cuntbasket shits! I smell like a freakin' SOAP bar! Yeah, top that!"

"Leetle man," huffed Heavy, taking huge steps to catch up with them and paused every few words to take a deep breath, "...is probably...smell like nos'hing...because he have _nos'hing_...in tiny baby _pants._..HA _HA!_"

"EX_CUSE_ ME?" screamed Scout. "Hey, _an' _it – " As Heavy finally managed to catch up to them, Scout cringed in agony and tried to escape Soldier's grip as he writhed like a dog in pain. "..aaaAAAUUUGGHH! SOMEONE GET ME AWAY! DA HEAVY SMELLS LIKE A ROTTIN' DUMPSTAH FULL A' CHEESE VAGINAS – "

Medic laughed from the near back. He paused for a moment, seeing the Russian sigh dejectedly. "Don't insult za Heavy, it's not your fault rotten dumpsters of cheese vaginas ah za only smell your mozher has provided to you! Ooh hoo hoo hoo, ah ha ha _ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA!_"

"Please _calm_ it!" pleaded the arbiter of a languid Engineer who wheezed along behind them, still rubbing his sore head that suffered the collision of itself and a steel-plated baseball bat. "I dunno, I mean, we're _all_ runnin'. _Someone's_ bound ta not smell like a darn _daisy _or somethin' of th' sort."

"Yeah, I know we're all runnin', _genius,_" scorned an obstreperous Scout that began to take logic with a grain of sarcastic salt. "But now my nose hoits. It's like sum'un's sticking a goddamned piece a shit straight in my nostr'ls and it smells like a dick and it's grosser than a whole pile a' barf, and did I evah tell you guys when my brudda Car'hl barfed _ALL_ over the floor, LE_GIT_ – "

"Shut it," Spy spat with a sneer of irreverence, running stealthily to catch up with the top of the pack. "No one _cares_ about your _stupid_ stories."

A wonderful fresh aroma of citrus and vanilla floated through the air as pinstripes neared, making the summer air less sticky and instead making it a refreshing cloud of serenity.

Scout took a small sniff of the air and screamed.

"AAA_AAAAUGH!_ OH, OH _GAWD,_ SOMEONE 'ROUND HERE SMELLS LIKE A FUCKING CITRUS SHOVED UP A WHOLE DICKWAD OF GAY STUFF AND IT IS SO GODDAMNED STRONG DAT IT'S DAMAGIN' MY FRICKIN' NOSE FROM THE INNER PARTS IN IT! AND PLUS, ALSO, IT'S _NOT _VERY _PLEASANT! _AND NOW IF I BREATHE ALL THIS STINK AIR, MY INSIDES WILL SMELL LIKE STINK AIR, TOO!"

Soldier scowled, taking a suspicious sniff and then using the hand that wasn't holding Scout's elbow in place to fan the air before him. "Holy shit, that smells _terrible._ Go _bon voyage_ yerself back to _Paris, _would ya?"

Spy planted his feet into the soil. He raised up a hand in frustration and brought it to his forehead. "You imbeciles. Is zhere at least SOMEONE is 'ere with proper class?" Sniper looked up from the back, wondering if he should say anything. "Not zhat any of you would _recognize_ it, but Citrus Bigarrade is a VERY prized cologne by Creed zhat – "

"Screw_ everythin'!_" Scout announced, tearing from Soldier's grip. "Foist da drunk dude, den da fat guy, and now even the French one who completely swam in some_ snails_ or somethin'. None offense intended, but you _ALL_ smell like _SHIT_. I don' even WANNA know how da fuck Snipes's gonna smell; pro'lly like a piss sweat ass lake or somethin'! I feel like me n' Pyro are da only ones wit any _NON_-OVERREACTIN' smell things from ourself."

He trudged to the back, ignoring the ranting Soldier that froze to yell at his behind. Yanking his one-and-only-friend's hand and continuing to make his way over to the battlements, he muttered, "Pyro, c'mon." They walked off into the hallway leading to the television room, Scout ranting so hard his face slowly reddened. Pyro chose to listen to his ramblings solely for the purpose of calming him down. "Let's go watch some baseball or Green Acres or Huckleberry Finn or somethin' chill like dat if it's on, pally. Hope it's baseball, but dat shit depends on what time is it. I dunno what time is it, though. Whatevah, _any _ol' dumb show is bettah than dese _dumbasses _that I hate and wanna shove 'em into a dumb hole. Even really bad shows about some dumb chick flick no one wanna see.

"Like remember that one time we was wantin' ta watch some World Series and then Medic was cryin' over some shit on da telly about some skag who was dyin' like a faggot. Oh god dammit, I hate Medic when he sayed before that my Ma smells like rotten cheese vaginas. My Ma smells like _COOKIES,_ what's it to him, huh? Doc's a dumbass 'cause he don't know nothin'." Pyro jumped as a black soccer cleat slammed onto the floor in a brute Boston sign of doctoral hatred. "_FUCK_ HIM! My Ma is da _SHIT!_"

Scout brought a finger to his chin, discerning Pyro's cocked-head of confusion as he continued to shuffled towards the ragged brown sofa that rested before the television. "...Well, ya nevah met my Ma, but fo' yo' info'mation she is _real_ neat! I think I told ya that, like, a_ gazillion _times, but I don't really _care._ But Medic's such a _dick_ dat he gonna insult a _good_ guy, and 'e's all stupid an' _dumb_ because we _hate_ 'im. Ain't dat right, Pyro?"

"Mmhm!" His best friend nodded in excited agreement. Pyro skipped over to the small television to press the power button with zest that did not balance with Scout's, considering the Bostonian sank with a dejected sigh into the squeaky mattress of the sofa. Pyro eagerly flopped down beside him as they both set their eyes on some old black-and-white show about genies that Scout hated. "Mmrm shrmm mm," Pyro assured, throwing a hand around Scout's shoulders. "Mmhsh's mm mhnm mm mmnrm!"

Scout nodded, hat sinking to his frown. He kicked at the linoleum. "Got _dat_ right. Can't _deal_ wit 'em. I freakin' _tell_ ya, dose_ stinkheads_'re drivin' me IN_SANE, _no lie."


End file.
